What would Joe Strummer do?

Sam's mind races as adrenaline floods her bloodstream. What's Maelstrom doing this far out of Northside? How'd the gonk taking cover behind her sedan get his cyberhands on a supposedly ultra-rare Militech Adjudicator VHP? Will her incognito Enforcer's armor really stop a heavy pistol bullet at close range? Should I stay or should I go now?

If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double.

She punches the ignition button, throws the car in reverse, and slams on the gas. Either the Maelstromer moves out of the way and lets her make a clean getaway or he doesn't, and gets run over. It occurs to her that, in the case of the latter, she could end up with an Adjudicator, and the New Inquisition will owe her one.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 18:05, Sat 17 Apr 2021.

Pedal on the floor, Sam’s Enforcer jumps away from the Maelstromer.  The car might not be burning dinosaur bones, but a V8 Engine engineering to run on Choo2 can get the job done.  The ganger finds himself without cover and committed to engaging the Inquisitor  baitfish.  Cipher catches a glimpse of the pistol firing out of the corner of her eye as she pulls her head around to spot her escape.  Behind her, the baitfish’s head explodes from a direct hit, though Sam won’t discover that fact until she scans the battlefield again.  Arm on the passenger seat, head turned over her shoulder, Sam just manages to miss a pair of white vans ripping around the corner of the nearest intersection, an exchange of paint mere millimeters away.

Sam slams on the breaks before she crosses traffic and turns her attention back to the unfolding battlefield.  The five Maelstromers are in the middle of the street, engaging the elevated forces of the New Inquisition.  Two of the NI soldiers are coming down a fire escape looking to get an angle on their metal clad adversaries.  Neither side sees the two vans approaching and stopping.  The side doors are flung open just as. Maelstrom prick goes down with a blast of acid paint splashing his face.  One of the NI guys up top lets out a bark/scream that cuts of abruptly and falls face first onto the pavement.

At that point, the passengers in the van enter the fray.  A woman comes out of the lead van tossing a pair of grenades directly into the forces on the street.  A large cybernetically enhanced death machine exits the other vehicle, leading with a pair of chain guns spraying across the rooftop, putting heads down.  Both grenades detonate, one with a flash and a bang, the other with a blue electrical arc that causes bodies to collapse.  More troops pour out of each van just as the two flankers arrive to start laying down fire.

In the blink of an eye, the wild fracas escalating in front of her has grown too big, too complex for Sam to influence in any meaningful away. The best she can hope for now is to glean some useful intel from the scene, strictly as an observer, maybe sort through whatever scraps are left on the street when this is all over.

She's far enough now from the action to avoid becoming an intended target. The Enforcer should be able to stop any stray rounds that still happen to come her way. Its position in the middle of the street gives Sam a good view of the action, and has the added benefit of impeding traffic, hopefully preventing any gonk blasting neo grindcore techno metal too loud to hear the intense gunfire up ahead from driving into smack dab into it. Sam triggers her Kiroshi's video recording soft and watches/films the battle unfold...

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:30, Mon 19 Apr 2021.

It is, by Sam’s professional standards, a well organized hit job.

Under the cover of the psycho-heavy, the newcomers “harvest” the Maelstromers down in the street.  One rises feebly only to be shot through the forehead for his troubles.  The others, thoroughly incapacitated, and drug into the the vans, disappearing into dark interiors.  The New Inquisition folks put up a valiant effort in assaulting these additional abominations to the holy order of the universe, but aren’t much of a match for the heavy firepower.  In a slightly modified repeat action, the female newcomer tosses another pair of flash bangs at the pair of NI guys in the alley, dropping them to the ground stunned and combat ineffective.  Frags go out to the guys on the roof resulting in an immediate drop off in the gunfire ripping across the street and a blast of plaster from inside the bar and up into the air..  Like he’s going to the store, the Heavy strides forward, picks up one of the alley guys by the collar of his jacket like a limp kitten and tosses him into the back of the second van.

As fast as they came, the new comers pile back into their vans and rip out of the area, heading north.  From arrival to departure, Sam’s clock shows 24 seconds.  Heightened reflexes for sure.

From her vantage spot at the end of the block, Sam can see several bodies decorating the street: the headless baitfish, the executed Maelstromer, and a slowly moving flanker crawling out of the alley.  If anyone is alive on the roof of the bar, she can’t see them.

By this point, Samantha realizes that she's in over her head. This thing is too big, too dangerous, for a one-woman crusader to handle on her own. But she's never been able to walk away from an unsolved case, especially not one this damn intriguing, and curiosity wins out.

Sam raises the volume on the dash-mounted police scanner. The chatter indicates NCPD's customary lackadaisical response to gang-related shootings in this particular neighborhood. She's got at least a couple of minutes before any cops arrive on scene. Opportunity seldom knocks twice.

If anyone else is video recording, Sam would rather not appear on film as herself. Toggling the randomizer function on her Chem Skin and Smarthair, she steps on the gas, pulls up sharply beside the headless Maelstromer that had briefly taken shelter behind her parked car. Remaining seated, she opens her door, reaches out, picks up the gangoon's Adjudicator, and sets it on her lap. Slamming the door shut, Sam accelerates towards the wounded New Inquisitor trying to crawl out of the alleyway, screeches to a halt just a few feet away. This time, she exits the vehicle and approaches the mangled streetfighter with recovered VHP in hand,

"Get in," she orders, adding a conciliatory, "We gotta get you to a ripperdoc," The shot-up gonk's in no shape to resist, but he's in no shape to comply either. Hoping that blood will wash out of her clothes and interior upholstery, she heaves the wounded cult-ganger into the back seat of her Enforcer, climbs back into the driver's seat, and peels out, leaving the scene of the crime at high speed.

"Stay with me, buddy!" Sam says, addressing her passenger.

Her thumb leaves a bloody print on the glass screen of her agent,

"Leech, it's Cipher. Got a patient for you. Multiple gunshot wounds. Big money, you keep him from dying. I'm in route to you now."

Silence.

"Leech!?!"

"Yeah, OK. Bring 'em in."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:56, Tue 20 Apr 2021.

Visiting Leech in his clinic is like stepping back into an 80s horror movie.  Boxes of gadgets, bottles of human body parts, too bright halogen lighting and a stained “work bench” complete the look.  Sam is pretty sure if she squints hard enough, she’ll see some of her own blood on the floor underneath the surgical chair that is currently holding her New Inquisition acquisition.  The ripperdoc himself is wheeling around his patient, both hands exploding outward in a a mass of micro-fine cybernetic wiring and manipulators that knit flesh and pull out bits of bullets and debris.  The only thing missing is the Dr. Giggles poster.

“You are not nice lady, bring this to my door,” Leech says, directing the comment to Sam as his eyes remain directed on his patient.  “This gonk?  You see cross?” Leech brings a blood stained hand up and turns the face of the NI punk towards Sam.  He’s got a cross tattoo running down the left side of his face, cross bar branching out across his eye and the bridge of his nose.  “This gonk crazy.  True believer.”

“Just fix him, Leech.”

“Oh yes,” Leech fixes Sam with a glance of his small round cyber eyes. “I will fix, and you will pay.” 

The gonk on the table moans, utters something unintelligible.

“Is that nerve-block going to hold?” Sam asks.

“Yes.  And it will cost more.”

Sam sighs.  Leech, the little round man with the thick Eastern European accent is a pain in the ass.  But he’s her pain in the ass, a symbiotic relationship based on payment and torn flesh.  As freakishly kept as the the clinic is, the doc’s work has never been an issue.  Neither has his silence.  His business acumen is something to be admired.  “You got a work term I can use?”  Leech absently tilts his head to the side, indicating a desk covered with hard copy printouts of research articles and wrappers of caffeine infused soy candy bars.

With time to kill, Sam dives into the recordings she made of the firefight/abduction.  The woman she saw moves fluidly with the tell tale signs of  Sandevistan speed ware.  No one without augments moves like that, casually arcing grenades through the air like she’s distributing mail fliers.  There’s a bulk about her frame, too.  One that points to sub dermal armor.   Her face remains emotionless throughout the whole process, lips unmoving.  Strangely, she’s got a tattoo similar to the NI guy on the table, the one with a pair of crossbars instead of just one.  A cursory exam of the video shows that all of the abductors sport the same tattoo.  The Heavy moves fast as well, a pair of cyber arms sporting weapon implants and a coat of heavy armor jack over his bulky frame.  Throughout the hit, none of the abductors makes any attempt to talk.  Internal comms all the way.

A voice from behind pulls Sam out of her examination of the data. “No cyber...” the gonk moans.

“Yes.  No cyber.  I do not want you coming back and bombing my clinic.”  Leech’s voice is clipped, irritated.  “Though harder to fix you.”

“No...cyber...”

Catching Sam’s look, Leech rolls himself back from his patient.  “He is fixed as can be.  In no pain.  I can rouse him if you wish to talk.  Unable to move with block.”

When Sam nods, Leech reaches to a shelf behind him, pulls out an airhypo and jabs it in his patients neck.  The gun emits a quick hiss as it dumps stimulant into the Inquisitor’s blood stream.  Glazed eyes round into focus, slashing back and forth taking in the situation.

“Our father, resident of heaven, holy is thy name...” the NI guy starts spouting immediately.

“He can talk now.” Leech shakes his head and gets out of Sam’s way.

Sam lets the man finish his prayer. First rule of interrogation: keep the suspect talking, don't shut him down.

"Lonnie Cantu," Sam begins, reading the faded name on the dogeared Night City Library Public Library card she'd found in his pants pocket, "We saved your life today."

"My name is Brother Ezekiel, and my god saved me," the man-formerly-known-as-Lonnie Cantu counters almost reflexively

"Okay, but supposing that's so, he used me and the good doc here to do it. I guess that makes us your guardian angels, doesn't it. So, any way you cut it, you owe us big time,"

Lonnie Cantu/Brother Ezekiel hesitates, says, "I don't talk to cops,"

"I'm not a cop," Sam responds, matter of fact. Not anymore, at least.

The New Inquisitor doesn't respond verbally, but Sam can see the gears turning in his shaven head.

"All I want is some information, Brother Ezekiel. Nothing that'll blow back on your crew. Then I'll drop you off right back where I found you. That's pretty damn cheap for a life debt, wouldn't you agree?"

"Don't blaspheme," the wrung-out zealot counters faintly.

"Look, Zeke. If you don't want to do this- don't want to repay the debt you owe- then, fine. I'll drop you off in Watson, down by the docks*. But I'm keeping this," she adds, lifting the Militech Adjudicator VHP into his line of sight. "And you can start praying that your god sends along someone else to save your ungrateful ass. Again. You really want to test Him like that?"

Brother Ezekiel remains silent, but Sam senses his resistance beginning to crumble, Lonnie Cantu crawling his way back to the surface.

"You wanna do right, Lonnie. I can tell," Sam coos. He doesn't disagree. Flashing the Adjudicator again, she prompts, "Let's start with where New Inquisition got this..."

*Maelstrom territory

-
This message was last edited by the player at 03:44, Wed 21 Apr 2021.

Lonnie/Ezekiel chews his cheek, sweeps his eyes around the room.  “Handed out,” he says finally, voice resigned. “Deacon Gerald supplied them to our parish. He said that god provided us a weapon to smash the followers of the Chrome Devil.”

“This is some serious holy firepower, Lonnie,” Sam says.  “And Deacon...uh...Gerald?  Where did he get a hold of this tech?”

Lonnie’s eyes narrow, Ezekiel taking a peek through. “I just told you.  God provided them.”

“Okay, okay.  I misunderstood.  Got it now,” Sam plays into the man’s conviction.  “Did your god have a vessel?”

“I don’t know.  I’m Faith Militant, I will die for His will.” Lonnie’s neck twitches as he tries to broadcast his conviction with body language only to have it halted by the nerve-block.  The pride in his eyes is unmistakable.

“Your faith is strong,” Sam coos again. “I admire your conviction.  I’m glad I could help save you.  How many of these bad boys,” she tilts the pistol up into his view again, “do you have to do your holy work?”

“Not as many as we should.  We were supposed to get more, but the devil fucked us.  The Chrome Demon himself found out about our work and corrupted our angel.  Deacon Gerald said we have enough.”  Lonnie/Ezekiel looks around again, takes in his surroundings.  His eyes flick over to Leech hanging out in the background, fear wavering in his voice. “Sinner. Do you swear to your demons that you left me pure?”

Leech’s mouth twists in distaste. “You crazy one here, not me.  You want flesh, you stay flesh.  She pays.” The ripperdoc dips his head in Sam’s direction.

Lonnie breathes out a sigh of relief.  “Then I can go home.  Take me home,” he says to Sam with a shaking voice and a hopeful bargain. “Deacon Gerald will hook you up for doing god’s work.”

This message was last edited by the GM at 21:18, Wed 21 Apr 2021.

That will have to do. Sam moves away from the operating table, pulls Leech aside. His breath is sour. She wishes she had a mint to offer him; it wouldn't help with the ripperdoc's B.O., though.

"I'm going to take our new friend back..." she starts.

Leach cuts her off, "What. About. My money?"

"You'll get your money, Leech- you know I'm good for it- but I gotta finish the gig first."

"No! This is unacceptable. I never should have agreed..."

This time, Sam cuts Leech off, "I get it, Leech. I do. And I'm sorry. You gotta trust me on this, OK? My client's a corpo, real big shot. I'm gonna expense this whole thing. Mark your fee up 20%, you'll get it. But I gotta close the case first, and it sounds like this Deacon Gerald gonk can do that."

Leech frowns, shakes his head disapprovingly. "I am not happy with you, Cipher. This will not happen again."

"You have every right, Leech, and it won't." Sam pauses. He won't like what she has to say next either.

"What," Leech says, appropriately suspicious.

"I'm about to go into the Lion's den. If I don't come back..."

"I don't get paid," he almost pouts.

"Exactly. So here's how we make sure I come back. You know a fixer?"

"Of course," he replies testily.

"Have I heard of 'em?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what's his name?"

"Black Jasper," Leech answers. The name rings a bell with Sam. New Westbrook. Real up-and-comer, solid rep. Could be a big-time player one day.

"OK, good. If I don't call you in three hours, call your fixer. Take out a recovery contract. Give him this," she pulls a memory stick from her agent, hands it to the ripperdoc. It's a copy of the video footage she shot of the street battle. "Tell him to start looking here. I'll make sure I leave some clues."

"And how am I supposed to pay him when you don't pay me?" Leech asks astutely.

"Job's COD, Leech. He trusts you, he'll take it. I'll expense the whole thing. This is Militech money we're talking about. There's a bounty on these things too," Sam adds, indicating the Adjudicator. "100 eddies a pop. You and Jasper can split the whole take." Hook baited, Sam waits for the ripperdoc's decision. Leech is deliberately slow to answer, making it uncomfortable for her. Finally, he says,

"I do not have choice. Go. If you do not call in three hours, I call Jasper."

Sam gives Leech her warmest, winningest grin. "Thanks, Leech. You really are a guardian angel."

The doctor snorts, almost cracks a smile. Sam returns to the patient.

"Let's get you home."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:23, Thu 22 Apr 2021.

It's not the least bit surprising when the address Lonnie directs Sam to turns out to be the hulking shell of a decaying Catholic church.  The church stands with defaced walls and broken stained-glass windows, a cast off from a time when Night City believed in something grander than the next big score.  Of course the original occupiers of the church would probably take issue with the perverted faith that currently holds court in the stone corridors and spaces.  Lonnie tells Sam to park right up front, right next to the rolls of barbwire and piles of broken concrete that serve as a palisade protecting the structure behind.

"Right here?" Sam asks, half in disbelief.

"Yeah," Lonnie says, Brother Ezekiel starting to poke out of his eyes more and more.  "You're with me."

"Right."

The camouflaged cop cruiser comes to a halt drawing eyeballs from the half dozen or so zealots that hang out near the barrier holding a surprising variety of implements of death in fleshy hands.  When Ezekiel emerges from the passenger seat, there is a smattering of cheers and whistles.  One man, the only other one with a cross tattoo on his face comes down and takes his fellow NI ganger from Sam's shoulder.

"Brother Ezekiel!  We feared for your flesh, but never your soul!"

"Praise god, Jedediah.  Our Lord left me with this Good Samaritan."

"Hi," Sam says flatly.  Jedediah gives her the once over, eyes narrowing as he inspects her for cyberware.  He's clearly not impressed.

"You can go, sinner.  Remember that good works alone are not enough-"

"Brother," Ezekiel says, cutting off Jedediah with a hand to his shoulder.  "I promised her a meeting with Deacon Gerald.  She kept my flesh and soul pure, I owe her."

Ezekiel's companion does not look thrilled, but he escorts the duo (or rather hauls Ezekiel along while Sam trails, doing her best not to look terribly impressed by all the evil glares she's getting) through the palisade and up the steps of the church.  Flames erupt from two fifty-five gallon drums at the top of the stone stairway, each giving off a strong smell of melting plastic and burning CHOO2.  A teenage boy stands next to each, slowly feeding the flames bits of fleshy cyberware alternated with pours of fuel and big pieces of wood reclaimed from collapsing homes somewhere.

Jedediah takes them into the foyer, plants Ezekiel down on a stone bench and fixes Sam what he thinks is a hard stare.  "Wait here," he says.  "The sanctuary is not for the impure."  Ezekiel breathes a little easier, safe at home, while Sam takes in the space.  A pair of heavy wooden double doors lead directly into what must be the sanctuary.  A small door on either end of the foyer lead into offices on one side and up a set of stairs on the other.  It's these stairs their guide disappears up.  Screamsheets are plastered everywhere extoling the virtues of pure flesh, the anger of the righteous god over the desecration of the body, and all the myriad lies the Chrome Demon will use to lead the faithful astray.  All in moving pictures, pornographic violence, and lots of exclamation points.  Conveniently written at a 2nd grade level.

After a few minutes of cooling her jets, Sam hears the approach of booted feet coming down the stairs.  A new figure emerges, a thin man with long fingers and pale skin.  His black hair is cut in a bowl above a severe face, a tonsure shaved across the top of his scalp.  He wears ArmorJack decorated with a pair of silver crosses on the collar, sports a cross tattoo on his face that matches Ezekiel's, and has an Adjudicator pistol strapped to his left hip hanging just below a hand that Sam can see contains callouses from weapon drills.  An entourage of Jedediah and a few acolytes follow on his heels.  Deacon Gerald does not look happy.

Before Sam can speak, Ezekiel's superior cuts her off.  "Your holy work, Brother Ezekiel?"

"We attacked the sinners like you said, Deacon.  But the Arch-Demons showed up and killed us all."

"And you survived."  Sam can see where this is going.

"God saved me.  Through this woman and-"

"Silence!" Turns out Deacon Gerald can hiss like a roar.  "Brother Jedediah says you are still pure.  I pray for you that this is true."  The Deacon lifts a finger signaling Jedediah and one of the acolytes to surge forward and put hands on Ezekiel/Giving Way to Lonnie.

As they start to drag him away over weak protests, Deacon Gerald turns to Sam with the cold eyes of a killer.  "I'm told I must honor a promise to see you.  What. Do. You. Want?"

Gerald doesn't seem to be one for verbal foreplay. Sam fast-forwards straight to the metaphorical money shot, although the decision to push ahead feels fraught with danger.

"Militech's Adjudicator VHP doesn't officially exist. But your crew is packin' it. And the 'Chrome Devils' are too. I know better than to talk to those scumbags. I'm hoping you'll tell me who you got the iron from."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 02:19, Sat 24 Apr 2021.

Deacon Gerald twitches, just slightly.  Sam guesses he’s not used to being talked to as an equal around these parts. The fingers on a free left hand tap the grip of the pistol strapped to his hip.

“And how do you know this?”  Clearly he’s not referring to the hardware on his leg.

Sam looks him square in the eye.  “Because I took one off the body of the demons your boys were fighting.”

Stepping back slightly, the Deacon considers, flexing his jaw from side to side.  “That weapon should be ours.”

“And I know your supply has been interrupted,” Sam counters, just to stir the pot.

“Ezekiel,” Gerald hisses again.  A false sense of formality sits in his voice, anger and rage straining to get out, held back by some sort of twisted moral code. “He should know better,” he adds, starting to pace.  Finally he stops, dead eyes coming to rest on Sam.  “The Arch-Demons.  Was it like Ezekiel said?”

"Yeah, I can show you." Sam holds her hand up, palm facing Gerald, then slowly reaches into her jacket pocket, retrieving her agent. She queues up the video of the ambush-firefight-surprise assault and presses play. She's seen it a couple of times now, so she studies Gerald's face as he watches.

Sam is curious about this new gang, who they are, why they're snatching both New Inquisition and Maelstrom foot soldiers off the street, but she needs Deacon Gerald to stay focused, so she keeps those questions to herself for now.

"So, who was your source?" she asks, circling back when the playback ends.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:44, Sun 25 Apr 2021.

The face of the Deacon changes subtly during the playback.  Flickers of recognition, a lip twist of disgust, and finally, a subtle darkening of anger.  Instead of answering Sam’s question directly, he ignores it.

“Give me a copy of your data and your contact information,” he commands.  The Inquisitor’s right hand comes forward, holding his own agent.

“Your source,” Sam repeats calmly.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from one of the acolytes behind Gerald.  Gerald doesn’t acknowledge it.  His dead eyes come alive promising violence and pain.  The extended right hand starts to shake in suppressed rage.  “Listen to me you vessel of corruption,” Gerald gets out between clenched teeth. “Just because you dance on the puppet strings of the Chrome Lie doesn’t mean I dance on yours.  The choice isn’t mine to make.”

With his agent still forward, Gerald takes a breath to collect the beast within.  “You want a name I don’t have.  Others might.  You can leave your details with me or not.  But either way, you will leave.  Now.”  Behind him, the two remaining acolytes start producing guns.

Sam suppresses a frown. "Okay," she acquiesces. She squirts the vid clip and her contact info to the Deacon's agent. "Guess I gotta have faith," she adds with a shrug. It's a raw deal, no doubt. Deacon Gerald gets a foot soldier back, courtesy of comped trauma surgery, and fresh intel on rivals, new and old; Sam walks away with what? Not even an IOU- just a hefty ripperdoc bill and a ruined outfit. Leaving empty handed sucks ass but, on balance, it's better than never leaving at all. "Tell Brother Ezekiel I hope he feels better soon." Sam says, not entirely insincere. As she turns to walk away, she thinks, "Thanks for nothing, asshole,", but says, "Thanks for the chat, Deacon."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:58, Sun 25 Apr 2021.

With her one promising lead on a hiatus, Sam heads home to catch up on sleep.  Between taking a passive role in combat, dragging the wounded to a ripperdoc, and then negotiating for both medical bills and information, she’s wiped.  She’s asleep before her head hits the pillow, just managing to message Leech that she’s okay before succumbing to fatigue toxins.

Roughly eight hours later, she cracks an eye open to afternoon sun trying to fight its way through the heavy blinds that cover her apartment windows.  As soon as her agent recognizes that she’s “awake,”. Sam gets a ping letting her know she’s got a few messages to deal with.  The first is the Exec.  Unsurprisingly, he’s requesting an update in the finest passive aggressive corp speak he can manage.  Something that glazes Sam’s eyes over before she finishes reading it.

The second message might actually be useful:

Your request for information has been considered.
29 Aug 2045, 2200 Hrs
Kepler Park, East Entrance
Come Alone
Deacon G

The message has been scrubbed of return information, sent through a standard anonymizer suite.  If she wants to burn the EB or the time, it shouldn’t be too much work for a decent NetRunner to trace it back.  Or she could just show up.  The clock on the wall reads August 28th, 1634 hrs.

Before leaving her home-office, the top cargo container in a stack with a partially-obstructed view of the distant bay, Sam sends Valentin a quick update.

Recovered 1 piece. Following up on promising lead. Will update ASAP. Expenses mounting. Hope you're not getting buyer's remorse.
Cipher

Then she calls up an old friend from her NCPD days, and fellow ex-cop, a netrunner who followed the siren song of better pay and less red-tape to the private sector.

"Pulpo*, Cipher. Hey, I got an easy 50 eddies for ya, prolly take you less than an hour. Can you squeeze it in? Preem. I need you to trace a scrubbed text message without letting the sender know about it. Great! Thanks, choom. I'll send it your way. Bye."

After forwarding Deacon Gerald's message, Sam calls Leech, gives him the det's on the upcoming meeting with Deacon Gerald, followed by the same "call the cavalry if you don't hear back from me by X" instructions.

In the interval, she runs the license plate numbers of the borg vans through the city MVD's database, hits the dojo for some sparring (Judo), catches up on some paperwork, and does a little routine surveillance on a garden variety I think my input has another output case (he does).

*Pronounced Pool-Poh. Spanish for Octopus.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:45, Wed 28 Apr 2021.

Night City
South Night City
Aug 29, 2045
2200 Hrs

Pulpo comes through with little effort, confirming that the text arrived at her cellphone via the agent of one Dale Hughes.  The screen capture shows a much younger Deacon Gerald with none of the attitude and maybe even a little bit of zest for life.  Certainly missing the tattoo across his eye.  It’s not exactly a warm fuzzy, but it helps with the confidence level that this isn’t someone playing games.  The vans come back as registered to a SLI-D3 INC, based out of a net address with no physical location.  The company was incorporated about two months ago with the sole owner listed as the Agency Trust.

As to the meeting at hand...

Following the standard protocol for not getting murdered, Sam shows up to the vicinity of her meeting about an hour and a half early to scout the East Entrance of Kepler Park.  That arrival about twelve hours after she walked the park at length this morning to get a lay of the land.  Pushed up against the Pacific Ocean on a large hilltop in South Night City, Kepler Park used to be grassy area where one could take a tour of the history of astronomy starting with replicas of stone monuments, culminating in an actual observatory at the top of the hill.  Now the park has been given over to squatters and trash, the monoliths defaced with graffiti, the sundials overturned, and the observatory strictly off limits due to booster gang presence.  Maybe one day someone, or some corp, will do something about cleaning the space up.  In the morning sun, it is undeniably beautiful even in the squalor.  At night, it’s dark and more than a little threatening.

At 2145 Sam watches through the windshield of her car as a pair of NI enforcers show up and start shooing the homeless away from the askew metal gate.  At 2155 she recognizes the shape of Deacon Gerald and one of his acolytes arriving from inside the park.  The deacon doesn’t lean on a wall or slouch.  He waits, still and calm.

Sam hits the party at exactly 2200 hrs, waving from a distance so that she’s spotted with plenty of time to avoid nasty surprises.  When she gets close Gerald nods at her and tilts his head, indicating that she should follow him into the park.  He’s not happy, he’s not unhappy.  He’s not emoting much of anything.

Sam's tempted to break the ice, ask, "How's Brother Zeke doing?" but thinks better of it. Deacon Gerald's lack of affect is unnerving. It could be just for show, but Sam thinks not. Something bad happened to Dale Hughes. He's not home anymore.

The cult-gang lieutenant's hussle doesn't bother to pat her down. Sam takes that as a positive sign. She follows Deacon Gerald in silence, taking it all in.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:47, Wed 28 Apr 2021.

Gerald and his guards lead Sam through the park, sticking to the main path that has been helpfully cleared off the various riff-raff by booster-gangers with ill tempered religious sensibilities.  Nobody says anything as Sam gets a nighttime tour of the park.  They pick up the story laid out on the trail somewhere around the Inca and follow it through to the Copernican Revolution where the path branches out into a heliocentric model of the solar system with the eight planets (Pluto still being ostracized as a planetoid in 2045).  Arrayed around the solar system are six or seven more inquisitors, each sporting firearms.  Sam can see at least one more Adjudicator and a slew of submachine guns that look surprisingly modern and shiny.

Gerald leads Sam to Sol and leaves her there with a clipped “wait here,” before backing away to rejoin the security element hovering somewhere along the Kuiper Belt.

Sam doesn’t have to wait long.  About two minutes after taking her place in the Copernican center of the solar system, she spots lights coming down the trail from the observatory above. Torches of all things.  It’s a procession of four escorts and a man walking in the middle wearing a white robe, New Inquisition cross hanging from his neck to match the one on his eye.  The scene is so outside of expectation that it takes Sam a moment to realize she’s seeing Brother Ezekiel wearing the robes, walking towards her with a solemn and regal bearing, bare feet on the ground.  The procession moves forward, coming into the solar system like a blazing, if slow moving, comet that gradually comes into the Sun’s heliosphere.  As Ezekiel passes the orbit of Earth, the entire security detail takes a knee, bowing their heads towards the brother and making the sign of the cross over their hearts. The torch bearers take up positions surrounding Sam and Ezekiel at the center providing an eerie and theatrical light show.  Sam can smell the smoking petrochemical sludge coating the torches as they burn.

“Hello sister,” Brother Ezekiel smiles, Lonnie not at all present in the radiant expression on his face.  “The Blessing of the Father be with you. I bear a message from the Holy Trinity.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:04, Wed 28 Apr 2021.

If Lonnie Cantu had been nursing a tall glass of Kool Aid prior to their first meeting, Sam reckons he's gone and chugged the whole pitcher since then. An icy fist grips her insides, twists. Sam's pretty sure she's about to witness a real-life human sacrifice.

"Uh, yeah- you too," she replies, unsure of what to say next. Brother Ezekiel isn't a friend. He's barely an acquaintance. But Sam's not cool with watching the gonk get ritually murdered. Trouble is, trying to stop the act- alone, in the combat zone, surrounding by gangers- would surely result in her own death as well. She asks herself if she's willing to die for a brainwashed cult ganger she barely just met. The answer? Lonnie Cantu, maybe. Brother Ezekiel... honestly, no. Besides, she's already saved his ass once- with nothing to show for it. Cipher straps in, triggers her Kiroshis' record function, hopes she's wrong, and waits for the drop...

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This message was last edited by the player at 23:02, Thu 29 Apr 2021.

“The Holy Trinity wants you to know that, uh, they don’t take this lightly,” Ezekiel says, clearly trying to dredge something up from a memorized speech.  Not that it bothers him.  This is clearly important work for him.  He blinks, closes his eyes for a second, and takes a deep breath before continuing.  It’s oddly innocent, he’s trying really hard.  “You are only being told this information because the New Inquisition was betrayed by a follower of the Chrome Lie.  You should take this is a warning as well.  Should you betray the New Inquisition, you will be betrayed in turn.”  It’s the second time in three days Sam has been threatened with betrayal, letting people down, etc...  Must be a day ending in “y.”

After a moment or two of rooting around in his robes, Brother Ezekiel produces a small holochip.  “The New Inquisition does not have his real name.  Two months ago he came to us, promised us weapons in our fight to preserve the pure soul against the Chrome Demons.  One week ago he failed to bring us weapons we paid for and kept our money.  The Holy Trinity has declared that he is a heretic to be killed on sight.”

Brother Ezekiel thumbs the holochip and a male face in his early fifties floats into view.  Sam knows her file well enough to match the face to a name.  “He called himself Shelby.  Do what you want with him.  All should know of his lies.”  The chip gets flipped off, the face fading from view.  The chip gets offered to Sam, disappears into a pocket.  Brother Ezekiel breathes a sigh of relief as he completes his speech, looking up and around like people should be proud of him.

She’s got the name:  Roland Copeland. Militech VP of Conflict Analysis.

Instead a witnessing a human sacrifice, Sam receives the key that unlocks the case. It's the most pleasant of surprises, given the strange, menace-laden circumstances. It makes the headaches of the last 48 hours all seem worthwhile.

"Thank you, Brother Ezekiel. This 'Shelby' gonk's life is about to become a living hell."

As she walks away, Sam keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop but it never does- the New Inquisition allows her to leave in peace. She arrives back at her car to find a few of the vagrants shooed from the park giving it the once-over. Sam draws her piece, holds it down by her side. Her subtle-for-Night City message is received and the vagrants hurriedly find something more interesting to look at elsewhere.

Back in her car, she starts dictating a text message to Valentin Medlock.

Got the ID of your leak.
It's yours as soon as transfer my fee, plus expenses, totalling 2500 Eurodollars.
Itemized expense list available upon request*.
You have my account number.
-Cipher

"Send."

It's a small price to pay for the kind of corporate power play Medlock likely has in mind. Hopefully, he doesn't baulk.  Maybe she's being paranoid, Sam concedes to herself, but now that she has what Medlock wants, she feels like a marked woman. She won't be returning to her apartment stack tonight. Instead, she sets course for a decent hotel in a different neighborhood outside the combat zone.

*600eb- trauma surgery for C.I.
200eb- for damaged property
50eb- for netrunning services
150eb- for incidentals (tonight's dinner & hotel; tomorrow's breakfast)

I based these on prices for goods and services listed in the CR-R rulebook. Trauma surgery fee includes extra 20% promised to Leech. I didn't see anything for drycleaning/reupholstering, so I guestimated. Please feel free to adjust any/all prices based on current market values.

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This message was last edited by the player at 19:05, Fri 30 Apr 2021.

Night City
The Glen
30 Aug 2045
1030 Hrs

The bed is soft, the alarm is silent, and the food is on someone else’s dime.  Not a bad way to wake up.  Sam rolls slowly out of bed, walks to the window and pulls the shades back taking in Night City in all its daytime glory.  To the north she can see the battered and beaten Old Corporate Zone.  The cranes are crawling slowly north, reclaiming the blast center and former war zone building by building.  Forget block by block.  With her head against the glass, she can see the Combat Zones pushing up agains the Glen from the East and West.  In all directions, she can make out strips of blue water shining around Night City.  It may be polluted, but it’s still the Pacific Ocean and this place, this City is her playground.  The heat of the coming August day pushes back through the window against her forehead.

A small chime beeps.  Her agent has noticed that she is awake and is sending messages through again after the overnight black out the PI indulged in.  A quick glance shows her two messages.

Medlock is first:

Message received.  Your payment has been approved.
Thank you for not disappointing me.
It makes both of our lives easier.
The bounty offer still stands.  Contact me for drop off arrangements.
-VM

The second is a confirmation message from her bank, informing Sam of a 2750eb deposit of funds.  More than she asked for.

What that means is anybody’s guess.

Stepping away from the window, Sam pads across the room, heading for the shower.  On her way past the media console, she slaps the radio on, pulling up  94.4 FM, KNCL, Night City Legends, the best of the NC bands.  She’s got Kimmy Two Bangs hosting, the singsong voice of the deejay calling out the hits.  Sam’s clothes hit the floor as the water comes on.

“Got a new one here for ya, Chooms!,” Kimmy snickers.  “In the face of the raging gang war between the New Inquisition and Maelstrom it seems one of the New Inquisition boys couldn’t handle the pressure.  Cracked out he did.  One Brother Ezekiel, or Lonnie Cantu as his mom used to call him, posted a video of himself last night up in Kepler Park.  Said something about god, purity, and all the rest.”

The icy fist returns to Sam’s stomach as she hovers on the edge of the shower.

“Ole Ezekiel then poured several liters of CHOO2 over his body and lit himself on fire.  Burned right up in the park.  You can see the video on my page!  Guess it’s better to burn up than to have your spine ripped out by the ‘Storm! And now, we’ve got Mark Rockets and the Slash with Self-Immolation.”  Kimmy cackles at her own wit.  “I know,I know, I’m horrible, right?  At least I’m cute.”

A bass back beat kicks in and Mark Rockets begins to let us know what, exactly, he’d die for.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:04, Fri 30 Apr 2021.

Sam walks into the bathroom and vomits up her nice hotel breakfast into the toilet.

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This message was last edited by the player at 19:24, Sun 02 May 2021.